“So far.” Sunny was wearing the aqua plastic–framed glasses she’d recently been prescribed for close work. Although she’d fussed, I’d reassured her that they just made her look more adorable. Which they did. “But I’ll check again after lunch. You know how some people like to dump stuff out there even when we’re open.”
I flashed her a grin. “I guess some of our patrons don’t appreciate our smiling faces.” My words were accompanied by the sound of rain pelting the library’s deeply recessed tall windows. “Just don’t forget your umbrella. It doesn’t look like this storm is letting up anytime soon.”
Sunny glanced at the windows and sighed. Our book drop was not connected to the library building, which meant dragging the inner bin back and forth through the workroom door. It had been easier to manage book drops when they were cut into the outside wall of library buildings and returns could be collected from an inside bin throughout the day. But bitter experience had forced most public libraries to install stand-alone drops outside. That way, if someone decided to deposit something flammable, the resulting fire wouldn’t spread to the library itself.
I shook my head as I contemplated such behavior. How tossing firecrackers or lighted rags, or even garbage, into a book drop gave anyone pleasure transcended my ability to identify with my fellow humans.
“So, what did you and Brad do this weekend?” I examined one of the returned items—a book on American history—with disapproval. Someone had inserted sticky note flags throughout the volume. I sighed and began peeling the adhesive bits of paper from the pages.
“Um …” Sunny stared at her cart, a plastic DVD case dangling from her beringed fingers. “Nothing actually.”
“Oh right, what was I thinking? I bet he was busy with various investigations, including looking into Lacey Jacobs’ disappearance. I imagine it’s become more of a priority since she hasn’t been heard from in over forty-eight hours.”
Sunny slid the DVD into its proper location on the cart before glancing over at me. “True, but to be honest, we didn’t have anything planned.”
“Something you want to tell me?” I asked, noticing the wariness shadowing Sunny’s typically open expression.
“It’s no big deal.” Sunny straightened and tossed her shimmering blonde hair behind her shoulders. “We’re just cooling off for a bit, that’s all.”
“Your idea or his?”
“Both, actually.” Sunny shrugged. “You know I’m not too keen on getting married.”
“As in, you really don’t ever want to. Yeah, I know.”
“Well, so does Brad. And that’s created a problem.”
“That’s not really surprising, especially since he is a bit older than us. When we celebrated his birthday last month, he even mentioned being forty-one and still unmarried a couple of times, so maybe his age is making him anxious. Honestly, they say women are the ones who worry about such things, but I find men are often worse. Richard is only thirty-six and he still jokes about being an eternal bachelor.” I grinned. “I just come back with the fact that I’m thirty-four and thus an old maid, so we match. Which makes him laugh, of course.”
Sunny shrugged. “I suppose you’re right. I should’ve realized the age difference would come into play, although I’m only six years younger than Brad. I suppose I was lulled into a false sense of security. It was okay for a while. Even though I told Brad up front that I wasn’t interested in marriage, I guess he thought …”
“He could change your mind? They always do, don’t they?”
Sunny shot me a grin. “You know it, girl. No matter how many times they’re thwarted in such attempts.”
“As long as you’re okay with it, I guess a little hiatus won’t hurt.” I considered my own reaction to Richard’s lack of communication over the past few days. “You are okay with it, I hope?”
“Sure. Mainly because I knew this was coming. It always does.” Sunny turned to stare at the pile of DVDs on the counter. “Sometimes I wish I’d been young back in the sixties. Free love and all that.”
“I doubt it was actually any easier.” I pulled a recycling can from under the desk and swept the pile of Post-it flags into it. “Romance always seems to complicate things.”
“For sure. Since you brought up the investigation, I guess you’ve heard the latest news about Lacey?”
I shoved the recycling bin back under the desk. “I read they found her car parked near her dorm, with an empty gas tank.”
“Which explains the hitchhiking, I guess.”
“Typical broke student.” I shook my head as I recalled my own days of stretching one month’s money to cover two.
“Yeah, apparently after she hit a deer earlier in the year, she had to spend a mint to fix the damage to her car, so I guess she’s been strapped for cash.”
I massaged the back of my neck to loosen my tight muscles. “Why hitchhike though? Couldn’t she have called Chris or Hope, or even Trish, for a ride?”
Sunny shook her head. “I saw Chris and Hope on Saturday, and they told me they drove in from Clarion on Thursday afternoon while Lacey was still in class. Chris has a boyfriend who lives in town and they were all going out to dinner that evening. As for Trish, she doesn’t have a car right now.”
“Oh? I thought she did. An old clunker. I remember her parking it out back earlier in the semester.”
“Not anymore. I know because I had to drive her back to Clarion one day when she missed her ride with Chris and Hope. Trish told me her car died when she drove it home a couple of months back. Since it would’ve cost more than it was worth to repair it, she took a bus back to Clarion and decided to use public transportation or rides from friends instead. As for her helping Lacey”—Sunny glanced over at me, her golden eyebrows arched—“you do realize Trish hates Lacey for some reason, right?”
“Yeah, although I’m not sure why.” I rubbed my neck again. “Seems like there’s definitely some ill will there.”
“Apparently. Anyway, I hope Lacey’s okay and we hear something from her soon.” Sunny held up a brightly colored DVD case with the title Fairy Tale: A True Story. “Oh, look. This is the third return I’ve seen that touches on that topic. I guess Mona’s storytelling sparked some curiosity in a few of our patrons.”
“But the fairies Mona talks about aren’t quite so sparkling.” I frowned. “The ones connected to the mountain lights stories actually sound pretty horrid. Dragging people underground and trapping them forever …” I shivered as a memory surfaced. I’d once spent time stuck in a dark, tight space filled with filthy muck and dank stones, uncertain if I’d live or die. “Not something that appeals to me.”
Sunny slid the DVD into its proper slot on the reshelving cart. “I get that, especially after what you went through in that well.”
I looked out over the main room of the library. Shadows filled the corners where the light from its antique hanging pendants didn’t reach. “I try not to think about it, although I still have nightmares.”
“Understandable.” As Sunny placed the last DVD on the cart, she glanced at her watch. “Oops, almost story hour. My turn, so I’d better dash back to the children’s room.”
“No problem, I’ll finish up here,” I told her as she sprinted off.
After clearing up the returns, I scanned the reading room. Seeing that no one needed my assistance, I strolled back over to the circulation desk computer.
It was time to answer a question that had been gnawing at me since Sunny had brought it up—why Trisha Alexander might bear a grudge against the missing Lacey Jacobs. I pulled up one of our full-text newspaper databases to begin my search.
It didn’t take long to score a hit. Surprisingly, it was a group photo of teenagers dressed in camouflage fatigues and holding rifles. I peered closer and spied Trish kneeling in the front row. The caption identified the group as a regional skeet shooting team.
My lips tightened. Trisha Alexander as a sharpshooter was the last thing I’d ever have imagined, but th
en, I’d never really spoken with her, or any of the other students working on Mona’s project, about anything outside of their research. I did know that Trish had been raised in a rural area, but that was it.
The second item retrieved by my search was more enticing. It was an article from a city paper that referenced a cheating scandal at a large state university close to DC.
I leaned in and stared at the screen. The story mentioned that several students had been dismissed from the university after purchasing the answers to a final exam. But it was the photograph accompanying a linked article that caught my eye. The girl in the picture had long hair dyed a matte black, but it was obviously Trish. Accused of cheating but cleared, she’d brought a countersuit, claiming that the professor who’d exposed the scandal had falsely targeted her for unspecified reasons of his own.
The professor’s name was Arnold Jacobs.
I whistled, drawing the attention of the patron Sunny and I had dubbed “The Nightingale” because of her well-meaning, but inaccurate, attempts to help reshelve library books.
“Sorry,” I said. “I just ran across some surprising news.”
The Nightingale made for the desk. “They found that girl with marks on her arms from alien probes, right?”
“No, nothing like that,” I said, forcing a smile. “Just some unrelated research.” The lie tripped easily off my tongue. The last thing I wanted was to encourage the Nightingale to spread more of her outlandish ideas.
Disappointment drew down the Nightingale’s thin lips as she turned aside.
I refocused on the computer screen and typed in a new search. Pulling up the university website, I zeroed in on the biographies of its faculty and staff.
And there he was—a full professor in the anthropology department. Looking over his biography and photo, I soon realized that my suspicion had been correct. Arnold Jacobs was Lacey’s father.
I knew from some of Mona’s comments that Trish had received her undergraduate degree from Clarion, but only after transferring from a larger university. The notoriety of the scandal had obviously forced Trish to leave a much more prestigious institution for a smaller college. I frowned. No wonder Trish disliked Lacey. It wasn’t surprising that she’d despise the daughter of the professor she thought had sabotaged her.
I glanced up at the wall clock, calculating whether I could reach Brad Tucker before lunch. This revelation about Trish’s connection to Lacey might mean nothing. But it was certainly as likely a motive for violence, or even murder, as others I’d stumbled over in the past.
Chapter Four
I called Brad while Sunny was at lunch, He was clearly interested in the information and promised to conduct a follow-up interview with Trish as soon as possible.
“It’s definitely pertinent,” he said. “Especially with this new wrinkle …”
“What’s that?”
He cleared his throat. “I probably shouldn’t say this, but you’ll hear it on the news soon enough—some hikers found Lacey Jacobs’ cell phone up in the mountains, off the Twin Falls trail.”
“No wonder no one’s heard from her. Even without foul play, she’s had no way to call for help.”
“Right. We’re now looking into it as a lost hiker scenario and have mobilized additional search teams to cover the area. The phone was found near old Delbert Frye’s property, so we’re checking with him, as well as with that guy who bought property up there several months ago. He’s not at home right now, though. Off performing somewhere. You know, that musician whose girlfriend was recently killed.”
“Charles Bartos?”
“That’s the one.”
“I didn’t realize his property was close to Mr. Frye’s.”
“Adjacent, actually. I even informed Bartos and his girlfriend about old Delbert when they moved in. Warned them to steer clear, as he’s basically a hermit who doesn’t welcome strangers.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard from my aunt and others that he likes to chase off any trespassers with a gun.” I took a deep breath. “You don’t think Mr. Frye would take a shot at someone like Lacey if she wandered onto his property by accident, do you?”
“Hard to say. We’re looking into that angle, of course. But I don’t want anyone speculating about such things until we know more.” Brad’s tone held a clear note of warning.
“I promise not to say anything. Not until the info’s released to the news media, anyway.”
“Good. Now I’d better get back to work. So much going on right now.” There was a significant pause before Brad spoke again. “Say hello to Sunny for me, would you?”
“Sure thing,” I said, before wishing him a good day.
When Sunny came back from lunch, she barely reached the desk before blurting out the news about Lacey’s recovered cell phone.
“I saw that online,” I said, debating whether to mention my call to Brad. I decided against it, despite my promise to give her a hello from him. I wasn’t ready to share my suspicions about Trish and didn’t want to have to lie to Sunny about the original purpose of my call. “I wonder what Mona will have to say about that? Since she seems so convinced that Lacey just took off for a date or something.” The bang of the front doors drew my attention. “Speak of the devil, there’s Mona now. Headed this way like a woman on a mission.”
Sunny straightened and adjusted the neckline of her loose peasant top. “I helped her last time, so if you don’t mind …”
“Sure, if you’ll keep watch over the desk.”
“No problem. I’ll even double-check all these returns before the volunteers arrive to shelve.” Sunny cast me a bright smile. “Anything to avoid hearing more local folklore. It’s interesting at first, but I think I’ve reached my limit, especially with the interdimensional whatevers.”
I wagged a finger at her. “I thought you liked all that new age stuff.”
“This isn’t the same. No illuminating aspects to it. Pretty dark and dour, at least the way Mona tells it.”
“Exactly the one I need!” Mona reached the desk just as Sunny hurried toward the workroom.
“Hi Mona, bye Mona,” she called out. “Need to grab some more carts, sorry.”
“It’s Amy I want anyway.” Mona shook the rain from her curly hair.
I leaned forward and encircled a stack of returned books with my arms to protect them from a shower of water droplets. “Hello, Mona. Have you heard the latest news on Lacey?”
“Yes.” Mona’s dark eyes flashed with what looked like irritation. “It appears that foolish child did come into Taylorsford on Friday but then took off hiking on a whim and ended up lost. I hope they find her soon, of course, but honestly, the way she’s carried on …” Mona tightened her lips over whatever she’d been about to say and shook her head, flinging more water across the desk. “I’m not here to discuss that problem, but I do need to talk to you. It’s critical.”
I flicked a few drops of rain off the top of a glossy paperback and pushed the stack toward a drier section of the desk. “How can I help?”
Mona’s gaze darted left and right. “Not here. Can we go somewhere more private? The archives building, perhaps?”
“That’s out back and it’s raining.”
Mona leaned in, pressing her palms against the top of the desk so hard that veins popped up on the backs of her hands. “It’s extremely important.”
“All right. Just let me get something to keep from getting soaked.” I strode into the workroom. Sunny rolled her eyes at me as I grabbed my rain slicker and umbrella before pocketing the key to the archives.
“You’re enabling her,” she said.
“We live to serve.” I made a face. “Or so I’m told. Anyway, can you watch over things?”
“Sure.” Sunny followed me back to the circulation desk.
As I stepped away from the desk and slipped on my coat, I noticed that Mona was already waiting for me at the back of the library. Impatiently, if the tapping of her water-stained suede boots was any indication.
I crossed to the back door and opened it, grimacing at the steady downpour. “Let me lead the way. I’ll unlock the archives so you can dash inside, since it seems”—I looked Mona over—“you left your rain gear at home.”
Mona patted her damp hair. “A little water doesn’t bother me. I’ve traipsed through worse than this when I’ve collected stories from mountain folk.”
I nodded and made a run for it, zigzagging to avoid splashing through the puddles that dotted the gravel lot behind the library. When I reached the small stone building that housed the archives, I fumbled with unlocking the door. Shoving the umbrella handle under my armpit so I could use both hands, I swore under my breath as the umbrella slid back, exposing my head to the pounding rain.
So much for staying dry. I stomped into the archives behind Mona and hovered near the door. As I closed my umbrella and slipped off my coat, my gaze landed on the pale oval that marked one section of the floor.
The sight of that lightened wood still rattled me. The previous summer someone had died on that spot, and although the wooden planks had been thoroughly scrubbed, the bleach mixture used to clean the blood had lightened the area until it shone in vivid contrast with the age-darkened boards surrounding it.
“Okay, here’s the thing.” Mona circled behind the large wooden table that sat in the middle of the room. “I need to know two things.”
She was trailing water everywhere. I sighed, knowing I’d have to come out later with a mop. “What things?” I asked as I hung my coat and umbrella on a hook on the back of the closed door.
“First, whether you’ve ever heard of any scandals concerning the two girls who disappeared back in 1879. The ones I mentioned in my fairy lights story.”
“No, what scandal could there have been?”
“Oh, I ran across something in my research that seems to suggest …” Mona waved one hand through the air in a dismissive gesture. “Well, never mind. If you haven’t heard anything from your interactions with library patrons or from your aunt and her friends, I guess it isn’t a widely circulated rumor these days.”
Past Due for Murder Page 3
